Tinsel

--by KT the Shimmer Skank

Notes: This is a companion piece to my other one-shot, "Fall Down Hard." I recommend reading it, but if you haven't, you can still read this one without any confusion. It stands just fine on its own. It is rated T for language, some drinking, and the vaguest of sexual descriptions.

The streets are covered with plastic snowmen and white foam snow, the houses with twinkling colored lights. Christmas must be the fakest time of year. I mean, there's no snow in California. No stars in Hillridge, either. Fucking light pollution. But when it's Christmas people suddenly have this sense of hope and limitless possibilities. If we want a winter wonderland and starry skies, we can buy them at Lowe's, by God. The whole god damn world has to shut down, all problems and complaints are shoved quietly under the rug, and all the mundane bull shit of daily life is covered with tinsel and made into something magical. Everyone can pretend to be okay. Peace, love, and fake snow.

Okay, I'm being sulky and irrationally pessimistic. I apologize for that. But I'm at a point in my life where that's all you can really expect from me. I'm eighteen years old, home for the holidays after my first semester of college. I'm confused and disoriented, stuck in this warped reality where everything familiar seems foreign. Suddenly everything that was important to me for the past eighteen years is just some pointless piece of my childhood. Old faces seem irreversibly different. I'm trying to figure out who I am, and what reality really is, and what really matters, and where will I go in life, and blah blah blah, textbook example of the standard identity crisis which comes with the transition from adolescence to adulthood.

So yeah, I'm being really moody and pissy, but damn it, I'm okay with that. My parents are, too. They're so understanding, in fact, being esteemed and accomplished psychiatrists, that they basically offer me no help whatsoever in coping with the unbearable disparities in my various perceptions of reality. I know that it's normal to feel the way I feel; I have always known that all of my out of control teenage feelings are perfectly normal. Because my parents have been constantly, incessantly reminding me. But has that ever made it suck any less? Nope. Not a bit. Gordo gets shafted, like always.

So I'm just gonna sit here in the corner of this god-awful party, sip cheap beer from my red Solo cup, and mutter bitter comments to myself as I watch the meaningless world go by. And no, I don't feel bad for insulting Christmas. I don't even celebrate Christmas. So ha.

Wow. I really sound like a dick. No wonder I was so anti-social in high school. I promise, though, I'm a really nice guy.

I mean, wouldn't you be bitter if you were me? It's not easy being Gordo. Coming home again has been a bit of an ego blow. I had such an amazing semester. Meeting new people, learning about genuinely interesting shit, actually being accepted for my quirks and intelligence; college has been good to me. It's an environment that lets me have the kind of freedom and responsibility I've been mentally prepared for since I was fourteen, unlike most of my peers.

But back here in Hillridge… I'm still Gordo the Hopelessly Inadequate. I remember all of the sudden that I'm six inches shorter than the average guy, that I still lack facial hair, that I'm almost nineteen and still a virgin, that I still don't have anything to talk about with any of these people, and that I still seem to be the quiet guy on the wall at parties.

Not that I didn't have a great time in high school, that I didn't have amazing friends and amazing times. High school was great and Hillridge was great and I have no regrets, but I don't know… Now it's all nothing but glossy pictures in yearbooks. That's all it's really good for. It's amazing how quickly you leave it all behind, how willingly you embrace a completely new life and identity when you go off to school. The past four months have been an eye-opening and fun experience of living a life that's different than the one I've known for so long. You never realize what a big world you're missing until you step out into it.

But now I'm here again, we're all here again, all these Hillridge faces back home for the holidays, drinking and laughing at one of Ethan Craft's blow-out parties like it's senior year all over again. So now all that perspective and experience I raked up all semester seems worthless, and now I just don't know what to think any more, and that brings us back to me being moody, bitter, critical, and working on a buzz.

I scan across the room and see vague clues that everyone else is having their own surreal inner conflicts. They miss everyone and they want to be here, but at the same time, they can't help but feel slightly out of place. I watch Kate Sanders, who plays the part of sorority bimbo flawlessly, even though I know for a fact she nailed a 4.0 this semester. Nestled on her neck is a strapping young man she met at school and brought home to meet the parents. Across the room, Ethan watches with a bemused expression and pained eyes.

I watch Larry Tudgeman, physics prodigy and our valedictorian, who is already completely plastered and trying to do the Laffy Taffy with Beth Ludberg. I watch Danny Kessler, bedecked with multiple piercings, flirt with Melina Bianca, who is way too young to be wearing that skirt or even be at this party. Veruca dropped out junior year to be a roadie, but she's still here; I hardly recognized her with the purple hair. Parker McKenzie went all the way across the country to Agnes Scott College and apparently went nutso-feminist; I watch as she tosses her dreadlocks over her shoulder and argues with someone about structural racism. Eli Saxon is passing around a bong, Claire Miller is showing off her scandalously low hip tattoo, Angel Leiberman is telling priest-walks-into-a-bar jokes, Brooke Baker is playing beer pong with Cody Pearson and Fredo. Everyone's here, the same but different.

Wait, they taught the monkey to play beer pong? That's crazy. Jesus I need another drink.

On my way to the keg I see a face that literally makes my heart stop. It's so weird, seeing her standing right there, just a face in the crowd. Mere feet away from me but oblivious to my presence, like complete strangers. I never thought I'd feel this kind of distance from her, never thought it would be so surreal to run into her at a party. But I guess there's a lot of things I couldn't have seen coming in middle school. Like, you know, my entire life.

I waddle awkwardly towards the keg, jerking my head erratically, unsure if I should acknowledge her. Maybe wait for her to talk to me? Maybe I should get another beer first, then say hey. Maybe I should get her a beer.

But instead I'm just standing here like a dirk, shifting back and forth and mumbling to myself, and when our eyes meet I'm so surprised I almost stumble over myself. Well done, Gordo. You just turned a completely normal moment into the most excrutiating endeavor ever.

But she just smiles, plastic cup in one hand and cigarette in the other. "Well fuck me," she says casually, as if running into me is the same kind of surprise as finding a Lucky Charms coupon in her purse. She always was the cool one of the group.

"Hey," I say, stuttering. "Miranda. Hey. How are you?"

She smiles again, broad rows of white teeth gleaming, and lets out a stream of gentle laughter. She takes a sip of her drink before responding, and over the rim of her red plastic cup I can see how tired her eyes are. "I'm doing stellar. I mean, shit." She waves her hand around extravagantly, black fingernails and skinny fingers clasped weakly around her drink. "Just look at all these friendly faces. I haven't seen these fuckers in ages. It's like being back in high school." Another sip, and she steps closer to me. Her sudden laughter sprinkles over me like confetti. "So yeah, actually, now that I think about it, this party sucks balls. Why am I even here?"

I crack a smile, but pathetically so. I can't really compete with her intensity. I'm struggling just to soak her in. "Free drinks?"

She shrugs. "I'll toast to that." She smacks her plastic cup against mine and finishes it off. Her eyes drift from me for a moment, gazing across the room but not really looking at anything. She's wearing a lime green Beck shirt and one of her black bra straps has fallen off her shoulder. Poking out the sleeve.

She whips her head over at me suddenly, as if she thought I'd started to walk away. She seems mildly surprised to find me still standing here. I wonder how many drinks she's had. "So yeah. But hey, you're here. God. Gordo. It's been months." She reaches for my arm, kind of uncertain. She smells faintly like Captain Morgan and Dr. Pepper. "Let's blow this big shebang, what do you say?" She motions towards the back glass doors, towards the pool and back yard that are less crowded than the rambunctious living room. We walk outside, unable to avoid a few "ohmigodit'syouuuuuus" along the way.

It's a little chilly, and no one's drunk enough yet to dive into the irresistible blue water. It's quieter out here, the blaring music reduced to merely a pounding bassline and a muted warble of melody. Miranda steps delicately with her tattered banana-yellow Converse along the edge of the pool, waving her arms dramatically as she pretends to be a tight rope walker.

"Wow, I'm impressed," I joke softly. "Do you think you can do that again when a cop asks you to do it?"

She grins, black eyes glittering dangerously. "With my eyes closed singing the alphabet backwards I could. Have you really been gone that long? Have you forgotten who rocks the 'teehee-I'm-so-sorry-officer' act like nobody's business? Have you forgotten who successfully pulled off the greatest senior prank ever?"

There are a lot of memories of Miranda I've tried to forget these past few months. But every single one is still scraped into my brain like a Britney Spears summer hit that just won't go away. "Ah yes. I'm not sure Principle Pettus's arm hair ever grew back, either."

"Pity." The song changes, and a vaguely-Latin rhythm guitar sequence begins to play. Miranda giggles and closes her eyes, slowly circling her hips to the groove. "This is my shit, Gordo. My SHIT. I love this song." Beck's voice enters the mix and Miranda serenades over him, dancing along the edge of the glowing pool. "Pound you… out of my head... I can't think with you in it…"

She raises her arms over her head and sways. Her t-shirt rises up to reveal a smooth strip of tan flesh and a gold belly button ring. I can see the edge of her red underwear peaking out of her jeans. She's too thin again. Purple smudges under her eyes. I feel like the slightest breeze will knock her right into the water. I feel like the slightest little anything will just reduce her to dust. How can she even be real right now? For so long Miranda has been so far away from me, physically and emotionally, and now she's mere inches away, crooning sullen Beck lyrics and breathing rum in my face.

"Whoa!" she screams as the rubber of her shoes squeaks on the wet edge of the pool. I reach out and scoop her up in my arms just before she loses her balance, and quickly move away from the pool.

In my embrace, I can feel just how frail her bones are. For some reason I'm terrified of her delicacy and I can't let go. I look at her face. Those hard eyes bearing right into me, treacherous and lonely as ever. I remember the time when I thought those eyes would never open again, and I shiver. I pull her closer to me, smelling the delicious shampoo/body glitter/floral scented deodorant mix that is Girl Smell. Miranda smell. I remember the time when I thought I'd never smell that again and I bury my face in her shoulder.

When I lift my head, I draw my lips close to her, and she laughs. Mournfully. "You shouldn't kiss me," she says flatly.

"Why not?" I ask sheepishly, even though I know there are a thousand and one reasons why not. I attempt to shake my long curls in front of my face to hide my intense blushing.

She worms her way out of my arms and laughs drunkenly. She saunters over to the swing set and plops into a swing like a ragdoll. "Where's Lizzie?" she asks.

I realize she doesn't need to answer my question; "where's Lizzie?" says it all. I close my eyes and swallow hard as a sea of memories of platinum blonde hair and glossy pink lips crashes like a tidal wave over my brain. "She's in Kalamazoo. Her family is with her grandparents for Christmas."

Miranda swings sluggishly back and forth, dragging her feet and drawing squiggles in the dirt with her toes. "So I guess you guys still keep in touch."

I cautiously sit in the swing beside her. Even when she's in Kalamazoo, Lizzie is the gap that always stands between Miranda and I. Things changed in high school, and while Lizzie and Miranda went their separate ways, I could never stop caring about both of them equally. Lizzie broke my heart, dumped me in tenth grade for Thomas the football star… but she was still my best friend. Miranda went off the deep end, fucking up her life left and right and attempted suicide on her eighteenth birthday… but she was still my best friend.

I feel the familiar tug on my heart as Miranda hovers gently in the swing beside me. I feel like she's silently making me choose. I bite my lip and sip my beer and want to scream, because why the fuck should I have to choose? How did our perfectly harmonious childhood trio suddenly turn into two polar opposites, with me at the nexus, forced to choose?

"I keep in touch with her as much as I keep in touch with you." This, by the way, is a lie, but only because Miranda is so much harder to keep in touch with. She plays music around the state, she switches jobs every month, she never goes back to her parents' house… where Lizzie is always safe and predictable, Miranda is a firefly you only see in brief splashes of light, and can never fucking catch.

Miranda smiles. Her smile always looks sad. Her words begin to slur a little bit as her anger gets more out of her control. "Of course. Got to keep your optionsssopen. Lizzieis out of town, but who's here drunk in fronnof you? Just Miranda. You think you can kiss me, coz I'm here and she's not? You would kiss her if she was here."

Out of nowhere, she's crying. I grab hold of the chain of her swing to stop her, and pull her closer to me. I rest my forehead against hers.

"Miranda, you know I don't feel that way about Lizzie any more," I tell her, shaking my head. "That's over. Long over."

Miranda smirks darkly. "Is it ever really over, Gordo? First love? Can you ever really let go? I've been with… well, a lot of people. Plenty of people. But I never got over my first love." She wipes a drizzle of snot from her nose and keeps talking. "I'm in love with you, Gordo, you know that? I'm not just saying that coz I'm drunk… well I am saying this because I'm drunk. But I want you. I really do. I always have. But I was always too fucking proud to say anything, because I fucking hated being second choice."

I swallow the stone lump forming in my throat. I reach out and cup her soft cheeks in my hands, soaked in tears. "Shh," I say, dying as I watch her cry. I feel like I've been watching Miranda hurt ever since high school started, and it's never be easy. I just want her to feel better. I just want to make her feel better. "Shh, it's okay." It is never okay, and we both know that. But somehow, I feel like she appreciates my comfort all the same.

"I wanted you, too, Miranda," I confess at last. She opens her eyes wide and watches me, trying to see through me. "Our last year of high school. When we started spending all that time alone together. I really did have feelings for you, I just never knew what to say. You know I'm lousy with girls as it is, but you were… you. I was scared. You were always so unreachable, Miranda, you kept yourself so far away from everyone else…"

My words stop fast in my mouth, silenced and suffocated by Miranda's lips as she kisses me. She wraps her bony fingers through my 'fro, twisting the curls into her clutches as she pulls me into her, lips pressed hard, a teasing tongue, gentle biting. She kisses me like no girl has ever kissed me before. I feel like I'm tasting flashes of the dangerous, untouchable, enigmatic truth about Miranda, the insides that she had kept safely at arm's length for the past four years. The things I had been missing, the questions I had never had the balls to ask. The girl I had always been afraid to love.

She had never been my second choice because I didn't want her. She had been my second choice because I'd never dreamed that I could handle her.

Miranda stops, slowly, and gently kisses my forehead. She pets my hair as she looks into my eyes, looking almost sad. "I'm so fucking tired of wanting you," she says, and I can hear the rasp in her voice from too many cigarettes and too many nights spent crying. "I can't sleep sometimes, thinking about how much I miss you and how you probably don't miss me at all while you're off at college."

I open my mouth to say something comforting, even though I have no idea what the fuck I could even say, but she cuts me off by placing her cold fingers over my mouth. She isn't interested in words. "Come with me," she says, weaving her fingers into mine and leading me away from the swing set. We crawl up the oak tree in the back of the yard, into Ethan's old treehouse.

We continue making out, desperately, passionately. Fulfilling the suspense that has been building for almost a year and a half. I'm shaking, I'm so overwhelmed. It's so hot and unbelievable and unexpected. She takes her shirt and bra off and I can't believe how strange it is, to be staring at the soft bare flesh of someone I've known my entire life. I can't believe how deep under our skin this love goes, how slowly it has built to this moment.

She reaches for the buckle of my belt, tugging fiercely and expertly. I am fucking terrified, of course, because I have never had anyone try to take my pants off and I naturally have no fucking idea what I'm doing. She has no idea that I have no idea. I'm going to be a total disappointment.

"Miranda," I say through heavy breathing, trying to shove her hands away from my unmentionable body parts, no matter how good it feels. "Maybe we should um, stop. Maybe we should take it slow, not let it go too far."

"Fuck that," she answers simply, struggling to yank off my pants in the awkward and small space of Ethan's childhood hideout. "Who knows if I'll even see you again, especially once you go back to school. I don't care about the reasons, Gordo, I just want this." She places her hand on my cheek, her eyes as sparkling and depressing as ever. "I want this while I have the chance, okay?"

There is nothing I can say, and clothes keep coming off, tossed around the treehouse. I am almost too overwhelmed to really soak her in, to really appreciate all the beautiful curves and soft features of Miranda. She guides me, teaches me, touches me like she is truly in love with me, and I find myself experiencing something my most calculated imaginings could not have anticipated. I find myself losing my virginity, with Miranda, at a party, in Ethan Craft's backyard.

I should have known it would be unexpected.

I can't help but wonder what will happen when this is over. Will we spend the night together? Will we even see each other again while I'm home? Will I call her when I go back to school after the break? Is this love? Are we in love? Is she going to hurt me? Am I going to hurt her?

But, I realize, in the moment, it doesn't even matter. It's Christmas. People make it what they want it to be. Everyone can pretend to be okay. And as Miranda hovers over me, sweat glistening around her naked body, she shines just like tinsel.